


Death was not enough

by Stormslostradiant



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormslostradiant/pseuds/Stormslostradiant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suoh Mikoto's death hit everyone hard. Even those that would rather not admit it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death was not enough

Yata slammed down his glass and stood up, a scowl on his face.  
The other occupants of the bar glance at him, before returning to nursing their own glasses.  
None of them are drinking alcohol.  
He had no clue what he was doing anymore. All he knew is that there was a big hole in his chest that wasn’t there yesterday. To be honest, they were all dying here now that he’s gone.  
Anna slunk off her chair and walked up to him, embracing him.  
The flames that had fed him, that had burned as long as he could remember were gone now. All that was left was the harsh, bloody, anger.  
He couldn’t take this anymore.  
“Fuck this shit.”  
His teeth gnashed together, and an edge of hopelessness gripped his body for a second.  
He sat back down, and Anna let go, sitting down quietly on the couch, leaving space, like she always did.  
Space for the King.  
He took another sip of his water. There would be nothing stronger tonight, out of respect.  
No matter how much he needed it.  
He couldn’t deal with this oppressiveness anymore, couldn’t control himself anymore now that his flames were gone. He needed to distract himself, before he started thinking.  
“I’m going for a walk.”  
No-one commented as he marched out the door.

  
Munakata had taken the day off.  
Skepter 4 had taken the day off.  
Fushimi stood in front of sceptre 4 headquarters, and he could feel an old familiar anger burning inside him.  
It had ruined him.  
He felt cold, burning cold, a craving.  
He couldn’t think.  
He slowly walked through the gates and into the abandoned building.  
Somehow, he felt even more detached than before.  
His feet led him to Munakata’s office, and his eyes caught on the sabre tossed carelessly onto the desk.  
It was the standard sabre, nothing special, yet he could not tear his eyes from it. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the blade shimmered in his eyes.  
He slowly lifted it up, and his eyes burned.  
Mechanically, he put his own sabre on the desk and slid the burnt one into his sheath.  
A trophy, perhaps.  
He felt dead, which surprised him almost, he hadn’t thought he’d feel anything.  
He could remember the day he’d taken that kings hand, and felt the burn. It hadn’t taken long for him to figure it out.  
The Red was slowly killing him.  
His hands twitched, and for a minute red flashed through his vision, lovely liquid red. Wouldn’t it be fitting, to carry the sword that killed two kings?  
He walked out into the snow, and let it out. He raised his head and laughed in despair, around him the forest burned blue.  
The Blue was killing him too.

  
Yata growled as he skated through abandoned streets.  
Where was a Blue when you needed one?  
He needed a fight; he didn’t particularly care with whom. His skin was itching and he just wanted to remove the feeling.  
A choked scream left him as he rushed towards a nearby wall, accelerating as much as possible, letting out flames at the last possible second.  
He didn’t care if he trashed someone’s home.  
Mikoto was dead.  
“Mi~Sa~Ki. Come for a visit?”  
He turned and snarled at Fushimi.  
“Fuck off, Blue.” Somehow, that no longer held the bitter anger it used to.  
Saruhiko only laughed.  
Only then did Misaki take in his surroundings.  
Scepter 4 headquarters. It made him want to strangle something.  
Fushimi wouldn’t stop laughing.  
“Misaki, what will you do, now that your king is dead.”  
Yata didn’t respond. Couldn't. In his head, old familiar comfortable flames roared at the insult.  
Finally Fushimi quietened.  
“It still burns, Yata. I almost think it will always burn.”  
He slowly pulled out the sword at his hip.  
“He burned anything he touched, Yata, even this.”  
Somehow he liked the name Yata coming out of his mouth even less than the deranged Mi~sa~ki.  
Fushimi chuckled.  
“Even this Yata.”  
Misaki could only stare at the sword pointed at his face.  
“Misaki, not everyone can burn like you can.”  
His eyes jolted up to the traitor’s face.  
“I thought about doing it, you know, finishing the deed. I’d thought about killing Mikoto too, but he’s dead now, isn’t he, Misaki~. But it’s still burning, Misaki. Burning me alive.”  
He looked downright deranged, with a crazy smile on his face and tears in his eyes, empty hand scratching away at the tattoo on his chest.  
He started laughing again.  
Misaki scowled and turned away, ready to march off.  
“Goodbye, Misaki.” A soft sound in the sudden silence.  
“Fuck off.”  
Fushimi stood there, not blinking, with his sword outstretched for the longest time, before he finally collapsed to his knees.  
“Nee, Mikoto-san, why do I care?”  
It was quiet in the burnt out clearing.  
“Nee, Mikoto-san, why did your flame accept me.”  
Nothing answered. Fushimi slowly let his hand flow over the blade, and he felt his hand burning just a bit too hot to be bearable.  
“Nee, Mikoto-san, why is it still there.”  
He sat there, for a long while, just staring at his hand on the metal, feeling the burn of his skin.  
He blinked when he saw a water droplet hit his hand. He looked up at the clear sky.  
He knew why, even if he didn’t want it, even if it killed him and he had to leave. The Blues are loyal to an ideal, a dream, ruthlessness. He could follow sceptre 4.  
But to join the reds you had to ...  
He sighed, bitterly. If he’d only ever been loyal to one king, then what had stayed his hand.  
He didn’t know, maybe never would. He slid the sword back into his belt before standing up and heading up inside. He was still the Traitor, he was still dying. Misaki would always always hurt.

  
Grief and anger weighed heavy on both their shoulders as they walked home. Yata to HomRA, Fushimi to his apartment.  
But if one looked carefully, one would see the small smile on both their faces.  
Their flames would always burn, after all.


End file.
